


Make Me

by Abradystrix



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 18:27:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16224803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abradystrix/pseuds/Abradystrix
Summary: Things get heated after the war in more ways than one. Hermione’s ire takes an interesting turn for Ron.One ShotSubmitted for @sinfully-romione 2018 under 'Wrath'.Thanks to @brief-and-dreamy and @torestoreamends for beta-ing :)





	Make Me

The summer after the war is unseasonably hot. Perhaps during the war they’d all gotten used to the dismal conditions of a world under Voldemort, and the impact of the Dementors on the climate. Perhaps it’s just bloody hot.

It’s a particularly hot afternoon as Ron and Hermione lie on Ron’s bed, upstairs in the Burrow. The afternoon sun is high in the sky, and they’ve retreated inside after a lunchtime spent by the pond with Harry and Ginny. Things feel normal.

Hermione sits with her back against the wall, engrossed in some book or other about the intricacies of travelling to Australia. Today is one of those days, thinks Ron, where she seems cautiously optimistic about their upcoming journey. She’s oscillating between blind panic and gritty determination, but today, in the rays of sunshine filtering in through the skylight, she looks almost peaceful as she reads. She’s biting her lip and occasionally marking a page with a pencil. Ron sits with his head in her lap, looking up at her, with a sense of wonder and near-as-dammit contentment. He closes his eyes, enjoying the warmth of Hermione’s lap behind his head and for a while, drifts off in the lazy heat.

After what could have been two hours or two minutes, he opens an eye and glances up at her once again. His stomach rumbles in the comfortable silence. Hermione rolls her eyes grinning, and Ron capitalises upon this opportunity.

‘What? I’m hungry!’

‘You’re always hungry…’ she says, clucking her tongue as she flicks a page.

'That’s not necessarily true…’ he says, deciding to chance his arm. He rolls off her and pulls himself up next to her, their sides pressed together. He is suddenly very conscious that she is wearing shorts and a yellow summery vest that must belong to Ginny, as it’s the kind of colours he can’t really imagine Hermione picking herself. He can tell she’s trying not to get distracted but there’s really something very irresistible about her when she’s all focussed and intense like this. He thinks he may actually be jealous of a book.

'It’s as true as Gamp’s Laws of Elemental Transfiguration,’ she says, casting him a wry look as she circles something on the page.

'I wonder what’s for dinner…’ he says, resting his head on hers.

'Food, I’d expect,’ she mutters, continuing to scrawl.

'It could be cold cuts… I do like cold cuts…’ he muses, half trying to annoy her, and half carried away at the thought of dinner, because in truth he is actually getting hungry. 'Or some kind of summer pie…’

'Summer pie?’ she asks, sceptically.

'Oh yeah! Mum does these ones with leeks from the garden and a bit of chicken. It’s bloody lovely. In fact, one year, she made this kind of green pie, when she was on this 'health’ kick, but even that was quite good - I think she’d done something with the spinach from the garden, and some broccoli but in the end she gave in and let us have it with chips anyway so really I’m not…’

'Ron…’

’… entirely sure what the point was. I think it all hangs on dessert as well, you know? I mean, ice-cream is an obvious choice in the hot weather, but I’m an advocate for crumble in all seasons and those apples from the orchard are…’

'RON.’

’… just entirely ready to be eaten if you ask me, and with a smidge of the raspberries from the greenhouse…’

'FOR MERLIN’S SAKE RON WILL YOU SHUT UP PLEASE!’ she cries out in exasperation, swatting his leg with the book. He can’t quite tell if she’s really annoyed or just pretending. He swallows, and decides for the second time since lunch, to take a risk.

He moves so that he’s looking her in the eye, grins and challenges her.

'Make me.’

And then something altogether wonderful happens. He watches as Hermione gets a fiery look in her eyes. She carefully pushes her bookmark back between the pages of the book and sets it on his bedside table. He finds his heart is thumping as her gaze returns to him. She looks at him with an eyebrow raised playfully, seems to think for a moment, and responds 'I will. In fact, you’re not allowed to make a sound.’

'Wh–’

She places a finger on his lips and manoeuvres so that their positions are reversed. Ron is now sitting with his back against the wall, and Hermione faces him, sitting casually astride his knees. Taken aback by the sudden intimacy of this position, Ron feels his face heat up and watches carefully for her next move. She places her hands on his chest, leans forward and kisses him.

Now the kissing has always been superlative: ever since the frenzied embrace during the battle, Ron has lived and breathed for the moments where they get to be close like this. But this kiss is something altogether different: it’s slow, it’s soft and it’s distinctly purposeful. She slides further up his lap, until their bodies are pressed together, never breaking contact with the kiss.

Their experimenting has moved quickly, there’s no doubt about that. They’ve touched, caressed, fondled, stroked and explored so much of each other in the past weeks that sometimes Ron feels he might implode just thinking about it all. But there are some lines they haven’t crossed yet, and they hang in the air like electricity. Ron has thought on them for months, years if he’s honest with himself, and each time they come a little closer to crossing one, his heart seems to swell. It’s not the only thing swelling now, and he’s not even sorry - he feels Hermione’s heat on his lap and knows he must be rock hard. If he’s not mistaken, she’s even pressing down against him.

She breaks away and pulls her hair behind her ears, her lips kiss-bitten and her eyes thoughtful. She traces a hand down his old, button down shirt, which is half open anyway, and runs her fingers along his chest. Those wonderful, clever fingers press into his skin and he knows she can probably feel his heart hammering, but he doesn’t care because all that matters in this moment is her, and the feel of her, and her hands on his pale skin.

She’s opened all his shirt buttons now and is tracing the line from navel to belt. This is somewhere they’ve only just begun to explore and Ron can barely stand the tension of her touch so near and yet somehow so fucking far. He audibly gasps when she starts to unbutton his shorts, and she shoots him a look that is so audaciously dirty, that he is once again struck dumb.

'No talking,’ she murmurs, pulling his shorts open and teasing him out of them. He is so hard in her hand, it’s a wonder he doesn’t just come immediately, and he’s focussing a lot of his energy on avoiding that particular scenario. Her hand is pleasantly cool as she strokes him, and he has to marvel at the wonder that is Hermione Granger as she’s already memorised and studied the things he likes, and the things he loves.

But she stops. And before he can even open his mouth in protest, she slides down the bed, between his legs, and looks him dead in the eye as she moves to cross one of those final lines. She wraps her mouth around his erection, and Ron thinks he may in fact die right there and then. She starts to move, in an exploratory way and through his astonishment he realises this is really happening. All the filthy thoughts he’s kept bottled up inside for as long as he can remember come flooding to the front of his mind, including a particularly piquant image of a naked Hermione in an armchair before the fire in the Gryffindor Common Room, legs spread and his mouth delving into all the places he’s only ever dreamed off.

Those thoughts are nothing compared to his reality right now. The sensation of her hot, soft, wet mouth on him is beyond anything he’s experienced before. Her lips tight around him, her tongue stroking the underside of his shaft: it’s all too much. As she dips her head, he finds his hand in her hair. He grips, but hesitates, realising in his haste that this may not be the most pleasant thing for her. He is overcome when she reaches back and grips his hand tighter. He falls back, sweating, heart hammering, a rolling boil of anticipation and hot desire growing deep inside him. He feels the familiar ache, the tug towards climax, but this - this is so much more than what he’s felt before. This is spectacular. This is Hermione.

'Hermione I…’ he splutters, as he loses control entirely.

Her gaze catches his as he comes, and he watches in utter abandon as she carefully and purposefully swallows each drop. He can barely stand it, the ebb of his climax flowing away, directly into her, her swallowing like that, utterly wanton. He feels her mouth soften, her lips loosely leave his shaft, pausing to kiss him just briefly on the top of the thigh. She sits up, the slightest shine of something at the corner of her mouth. He watches as she catches it with her thumb, and lightly sucks at it. He’s never seen anything so filthy. She looks at him almost appraisingly, a smug smile on her face.

Still stunned, he says nothing, his chest heaving, sweat cooling on his body, his shorts uselessly open in the summer breeze. She reaches past him, and he’s certain she knows that he can see directly down that bloody vest she’s wearing, grabs her book, and carefully moves alongside him, opening it once again, and continuing her reading.

Even in his addled state, Ron can tell she’s not really concentrating. He can see the goosebumps on her shoulders and hear the beat of her heart as he rolls onto his side to look at her. He presses a hand on her shoulder, and gently tugs one of the vest straps down. She blinks, and flushes, but doesn’t give up her reading. He draws his open palm down her front, and feels the rock hard tip of her nipple pressed into his hand.

Adjusting his clothing, he rolls over on top of her, and gently pulls the book away, taking care to place the bookmark just so. She doesn’t resist and looks at him with challenge in her eyes. He moves his hand further down her body, feeling her chest rise and fall with each heaving breath. He presses his fingertips under the ridiculously flimsy elastic of her shorts and gently pulls them down. He looks her in the eye, as though to ask permission, and she gives him a nod without hesitation. He tugs the shorts away, and lifts her vest so that her midriff is exposed. He kisses it softly, listening to her quiet moans, and hopes to god that she’s cast a Muffliato.

He’s been here before, with his hands and fingers, exploring the curves and crevices of Hermione’s most secret place. But he’s only ever dreamed of doing this. She’s wearing a pair of pants that he loves, a faded blue colour that reminds him of the sky. He hooks his thumbs into them and gently pulls them all the way off. She looks intently at him, slowly opening her legs for him, and he begins to kiss her, from the inside of her knee upwards. He wants to savour this. He wants to remember every moment of how this feels, her pale thighs yielding to his mouth, the way she tastes (sweet, but salted by the sweat of summer) and the fact that he, and only he, gets to kiss her here. She’s gasping as he runs a hand up to gently touch her opening, and softly he drags his tongue to join it.

He’s flying blind here, but he finds he doesn’t care. He pauses for a moment to just look at her, to look at the part of her that he’s wondered about for as long as he can remember. He looks at her flushed folds, the soft, dark hair that curls round them and he feels a surge of longing, and love, and intimacy that nearly floors him all over again. He looks up at her adoringly.

'You’re perfect,’ he whispers and she cries out as he gently lets his tongue slide into her. He is unsurprised to find her wet, and delighted to find that she tastes extraordinary. This taste - it’s sex. And he wants all of it. Sliding his fingers out, he burrows his mouth deeper into her, his nose gently rubbing her tip, while his tongue traces her opening. He can feel her thighs tighten around him, and all he can think is what a fucking pleasant way this would be to die, tongue deep in the one he loves.

But he’s fucking thankful to be alive.


End file.
